


Hegemony Space

by Zumberge



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Sentient Nanomachine Colonies, Transformation, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24343435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zumberge/pseuds/Zumberge
Summary: A loose collection of sci-fi stories set in a shared universe that explores the implications of authoritarianism in a post-scarcity-Nah, I'm just fuckin' with ya. It's vore in space.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. First Contact

It was simple geometry to know that even a modest increase in the radius of a sphere resulted in a significant gain in volume. When the Hegemony's engineers announced a breakthrough in manifold beacon and receiver technology, the resultant thirty percent increase in navigational range meant that humanity's territory had more than doubled. Of course it had yet to be explored, much less colonized, but it -was- theirs; after all, no one else was close enough to contest it, and if they were, they wouldn't for long.

In their wisdom, The Seven - long may They reign - chose to outsource the exploration efforts to anyone with the means and desire. In exchange, they would be given the position of governor for any planets chosen for mining or colonization. Thus began a new age of exploration, as driven by greed as the ones that came before.

Manyara was fortunate enough to obtain a corporate sponsorship from UMICO, in exchange for favorable treatment when it came to mineral rights for any settled territory. This was fine by her; worst case scenario, she had a new ship and an excuse to get away from both the stifling inner colonies and the lawlessness of the Outer Rim. Best case... well, "Governor Manyara" did have a nice ring to it.

The only problem was in finding a planet that could be settled in a reasonable amount of time. Most of them either had an unbreathable atmosphere or none at all, and the ones that were even remotely viable would take decades of terraforming before a permanent population could be established. Worse still, the amount of probes her ship could carry was finite, and she would have to turn back eventually.

As her ship re-entered real space Manyara was greeted by, of all things, a green and blue sphere. Positioning her craft in a high orbit above it she deployed a probe to the surface and waited for the results. What came back was incredibly promising: Seventy-six percent nitrogen, twenty-two percent oxygen, the rest trace gases, none of them toxic. A temperature of seventy-one degrees fahrenheit, approximately one-point-two times Earth gravity, and no evidence of artificial structures.

Jackpot.

She set a course for the planet, aiming for a clearing in the middle of a wooded region. A little fresh air and real gravity would do her good, she thought, and besides, she wanted to be the first person to set foot on her new planet.

*****

The woods in question turned out to be fern trees which, upon closer study, were completely benign. Indeed, if any of the plant life was dangerous it certainly wasn't due to spores, pollen, or anything short of putting them in one's mouth. The gravity made things a bit more tiring than she was accustomed to, but overall the planet was incredibly livable. There was just a single unknown, which she realized when she heard a rustling in the undergrowth and remembered that she left her weapon on the ship.

Manyara expected some sort of beast, but what emerged was startlingly human-looking. It was about her height and very clearly female, albeit with paler skin than her own - though that wasn't saying much. There was a modest yet notable amount of weight on her frame, but judging from how easily she moved her body was well-adapted; beneath that fat had to have been muscle. Strangest of all was her head of fluffy pink hair, a hue she had only seen on flowers. She was alert but not hostile, having come within a few yards of Manyara.

Recalling her instruction in how to deal with new alien races, Manyara stood still, holding her hands out. The alien stopped, and Manyara took a step forward to a patch of dirt. Stooping, she drew a right triangle with her finger, marking the sides with three, four, and five lines. Mathematics was the language of the universe, Manyara knew, so if she understood this it would demonstrate at least some degree of intelligence.

The alien crept forward to the other side of the drawing, studying it intently for a few moments before finally looking up at the new visitor. For a second Manyara thought she was on the verge of a breakthrough, up until the alien casually pounced on her, sending them both to the ground.

Manyara let out a nervous laugh as the alien pushed herself up on all fours, straddling her body. "Okay," Manyara said, "I guess you're friendly." She rested her arms on her shoulders, attempting to move her away. "But I could use a little room."

She seemed to understand, crawling backwards until she was at Manyara's feet. As Manyara watched the alien lowered herself to the ground and furrowed her brow, staring at her legs intently. Then, without warning, her mouth opened freakishly wide and she lunged, engulfing Manyara's legs up to the knees.

Manyara let out a shriek, attempting to scramble out of the grip of something warm, slick, and far too deep to be natural. The alien's mouth opened again and she pulled away, only for it to advance and engulf her up to her waist, her gut bulging from its contents. Fingers scraped the dirt and undergrowth in a desperate bid for escape as the alien pulled her in once more, lips stretched around Manyara's chest. Consumed by panic and fear, she began flailing her fists against her assailant, causing the alien to do little more than flinch before it caught one of her wrists in its vice-like grip. Then, pressing down on her head, she shoved the rest of her body into her maw, plunging Manyara into a horrible, cramped world of muted sound and inky blackness.

*****

It wasn't until her meal stopped struggling and started softening that she realized just how different it was. There was a sudden addition to what she knew, that she was a distinct entity from the environment around her, which quickly blossomed into... something. She lacked the thoughts to think it, but she felt that the strange water-creature she had seen had something to do with it.

She rolled back onto her feet before wrapping both arms partway around her soft, bulging stomach, hefting it off the ground before plodding towards a small pond. Turning sideways, she looked down at the surface of the water, seeing the water-creature look back at- ...no, that wasn't right. It moved when she did, and its belly was overflowing its arms just as hers was. What she was looking at was herself, but it wasn't -her-. Furthermore, the her-but-not-her in the water wasn't what her meal saw.

A short word formed in her mind: "I."

I am, she thought. Something about that phrase felt... right.

Her stomach let out a loud gurgle, and more information became known to her. There were other places besides where she was, and those places were all those points of light that she could see when the blue above her disappeared. There were many others like her meal - so many she couldn't even count them - and they lived near those points of light on balls of stones like the one she lived on. It took them a long time to learn how to reach them, but they created ways to travel to them, and her meal had one of her own.

...and to top it all off, she figured out what that drawing meant.

Spotting a glint of light in the distance, she identified it as the thing that her meal had used to get here. She headed towards it, gut wobbling with each step, and as she continued digesting bits of knowledge about their behavior and ideas filtered into her thoughts. They were amazing, full of things she didn't even know were possible.

She couldn't wait to meet them.


	2. Nanovore

Quinn didn't like space.

...well, that wasn't exactly true. "Space" was just the word used to describe the area between stars and planets. There wasn't anything there -to- dislike. It was more the things that went along with it, like overbearing silence and stifling isolation, where the closest thing to human contact that you'd experience for days at a time was a brief message through the comms.

She slumped in the pilot's seat, thinking back to her time at the state orphanage. It had been three years since they were separated, but she still remembered all their names and faces. It was her hope - perhaps vainly - that when the Hegemony declared that they were to repay their debts to the state that she could stay with at least some of them in the same career path. But when the Bureau of Employment discovered her aptitude at piloting and navigation, she was issued a transport and set to work moving smaller priority shipments between outposts and colonies.

Alone.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Quinn -could- stay in contact with the others, but along with the aptitude tests the Bureau of Employment ran came a personality test, which revealed to them that she was trustworthy, or at least easily cowed into silence. Thus, the priority shipments she was tasked with moving required the utmost secrecy, either for what they were or where they went, and that meant no unnecessary communications which might reveal any locations or details. Which she wouldn't do, of course; not because she was trustworthy - though she was - but because the consequences were enough to discourage even the thought of it.

Her latest shipment sent her to a research station in the Outer Rim. It was completely off the records, which meant that it was something that either couldn't be made public or couldn't be done on a habitable planet. There tended to be a bit of overlap between the two. Not that anyone could tell it was anything special - or dangerous - from the outside, since most of the construction corporations used modular components.

Quinn navigated the menu on a nearby control panel, broadcasting the Hegemony cipher to the station across the short-range comms. A few seconds later the reply came back and one of the docking bays slowly opened, strings of landing lights extending outward. Initiating the autopilot, she let the computer ease her craft into alignment before slowly gliding into the bay.

She ran her hands through her short hair, trying to relax as the shutters closed behind her ship. The sooner she offloaded her cargo the better; she didn't know what they were researching, but she had a hunch that she wanted to be as close to it as little as possible and leaving as soon as possible. It was unfortunate, then, that the sudden explosion caved in her ship's cockpit and shredded much of her body.

Had she been conscious, she would have reflected on the irony of delivering a shipment of medical supplies.

*****

"It figures this would happen when we don't have the resources to handle it! What are we going to do with her?! It's a her, right? There's not enough left to- oh, by The Seven!"

"We can fix this. Rogers theorized that an organic sapient control system could work-"

"Miss Ezkibel, it'll take -weeks- to get approval for human testing, and the Hegemony -sends- us test subjects! We can't just pull what's left of someone out of her ship and expect it to work!"

"Dave, listen. We were going to shift to live tests for control systems anyway. If it works, it works, if it doesn't, it doesn't. We can fold what we learn from it into our records when the time comes, and either way the Hegemony doesn't need to know about it. Worst case scenario, we just slag whatever is left over."

"They're going to notice she's gone when she doesn't report in!"

"One person in the entirety of Hegemony space? We'll just say she left and that was the last anyone saw of her. It's not like pirate attacks are unheard of out here."

"But what if it -does- work? What do we tell her?"

"We tell her the truth: We saved her life. If there's any kind of mental discontinuity we can just tell her she's still the original. You think they bother teaching couriers that kind of stuff?"

*****

When Quinn woke up it was to a disorienting combination of odd sensations and numbness. There was light from somewhere above her and darkness below, but she couldn't tell if she was standing or lying down, and there was -something- pressing against her, cold and hard, but it was against so many disparate parts of her body that it was impossible to determine the shape. She made a move to get up, finding her body strangely heavy and sluggish.

"Excuse me." A nervous-sounding man's voice came somewhere from above. "Uh, Quinn? If you can hear us, try to move. Um, anything."

Her mind was foggy but she did as she was told, attempting to turn and reach out towards the light. As she did there was a moment of focus, fog parting as she matched the sensations and movement to her hand and arm.

"Okay, that's a, that's a good start. You're in a tank now. Try to sit up if you can manage it."

She worked backwards, tracing what she could feel in her limb and connecting it to what she remembered from her body. She felt the cold, hard object touching her shoulders, and concluded that she was lying down face-up. Her other arm reached up, both slowly feeling about until her fingers wrapped around the edges of something smooth and thin. Pulling her body up, she noted a weight near her shoulders that had to have been her head, and as it lifted the world around her came into focus: Clean white walls, sterile lighting, and a clear tank full of viscous, grey fluid with a dull metallic sheen. Her eyes followed the surface up as it merged seamlessly with her waist, her body the same hue as the fluid in which it sat.

That was -her-.

"What...?" Quinn's thoughts came slowly: She remembered a flash of heat and light, and nothing beyond. Before that, it was scattered locations and people, none of which were the same shade of grey as her. "What happened to me?"

"An accident." A woman, more confident in tone. "One of the thermal coils in the docking bay exploded. There wasn't much left of you, so we made a decision to use our research to save you." As Quinn turned her hands over in front of her he added, "nanotechnology."

Clarity slowly returned to her in bits and pieces as she inspected herself. "I'm made of metal?"

"A microscopic colony of machines, but yes."

She nodded slowly. "I guess I owe you my life."

*****

Ezkibel took her hand away from the intercom, turning to the other scientist. "There, you see? Easy. She doesn't even know about what happened on Gallop IV." Gesturing to one of the console's monitors she added, "...and look. There's no signs of corrosion on the tank. It worked like a charm."

"We still don't control it, though," the other scientist remarked.

"We don't, but -she- does, and did you hear what she said? 'I owe you my life.'" She gestured to the scientist with a finger. "Little tip if you ever start dating: If you can get someone to feel indebted to you, they'll do shit that you couldn't -pay- someone to do."

*****

With a bit of focus and effort Quinn managed to resolve her lower body into a pair of legs and climb out of the tank, pacing around the room. There wasn't much to see, which left her focusing her attention inward: There was a distinct weight and heaviness to her body, making itself known through heavier footfalls and weightier touches against the walls with her fingertips, but she found the act of moving itself oddly manageable. She held her breath, waiting minutes for a negative reaction that never came, starting again more out of a vestigial reflex than anything else. Despite the room being cold she didn't feel cold, and despite waking up in a hard tank she didn't have any of the accompanying aches and pains that she would expect. Though there was still one thing that carried over from her old body.

Hunger.

Quinn rapped her fingers against the door. "Excuse me? Is someone there?" After a few seconds of silence she added, "I don't remember when I ate last, and I could use some food."

There was a pregnant silence before a slot opened at around waist height, a metal tray sliding through with a fork and portions of cultured meat in sauce and hydroponic vegetables. With a "thank you" she took the tray, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the door before taking the utensil up and slowly eating.

She had eaten vat beef before - frequently, it was a staple of her diet - but the flavors of it were more distinct this time. It didn't taste any better, but she could clearly tell apart the spices - chemicals, really - that were added to it both before and after cooking. As she swallowed her thoughts weren't of how or why it traveled down her throat and through her body with no internal organs to speak of, but of how she could still taste it as it moved. The food stopped around her stomach, breaking apart and desolidifying as her body closed in around it, a bubble of liquefied proteins that was slowly absorbed into the rest of her mass. It was unusual, but not at all unpleasant.

As she brought another forkful to her mouth she bit down, a bit too hard, feelings the tines give way and break off in her mouth. She swallowed on reflex and the bits of metal slipped painlessly into her, and she noticed that beyond the obvious metallic taste there was a certain flavor to them as well that she couldn't identify, either having never tasted it before, or never having the ability. They, too, were broken down, dissolving into the metal of her body.

The thought came to her that she might need to eat inorganic material to sustain herself, and she hesitated before realizing that she accidentally did so with no harmful effects. Moreover, that she was able to taste it suggested that it was intentional to make the act more palatable, or at least a pleasant side effect.

After some deliberation she slid the rest of the fork into her mouth, swallowing it before holding the tray in both hands and taking a bite out of it. After all, she was hungry.

*****

The days passed silently, and Quinn found herself growing bored and restless. Her old life wasn't much, but at least things happened every so often and there were things to do and read in her ship. All that happened in the room was silent observation, with the only thing remotely resembling human contact was meals every few hours. No mention was even made of her eating the utensils and trays she was given.

As another tray slid from the door - she had lost track of what it was, breakfast, lunch, or dinner - the lights in the room flickered before going dark. A few seconds later the room was bathed in a red glow before a muffled broadcast came over the speakers outside the room. In the illumination of the emergency lights Quinn could see the tray, stuck partway through the slot. She stepped over, lowering herself down and leaning in, trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of the outside. The angle was wrong and the door too thick, but she could faintly hear noise from the other side; there had to be a clear way through, however small. It was either leave and try to find a way out or stay here for who knew how long.

Quinn looked down at her hand, balling it into a fist before the features lost definition, forming a sphere. She uncurled it and it reformed, and she turned back to the tray before nodding to herself and pressing both hands into the slot. She let her mind drift from the thought of the shape of her hands and they grew soft, flowing into the empty space and pushing the bits of food aside. Her forearms followed, and she hesitated before pressing her face and the rest of her arms after them, vision going narrow and indistinct. Despite the strangeness and surreality of the situation, she found herself concerned about getting dirty from the sauce.

She oozed out of the other side into a small monitoring room, a console beside the door and computers scattered against the walls. Tendrils of her body slipped over the edges of the tray, forming a pool on the floor, then a growing mound. When all of her was through she retook her form, limbs extending from her upper half and pseudopod splitting into legs before her features regained their definition. She headed for the exit of the room, door sliding open as she approached, and she peeked out in either direction before stepping out into the hallway, heading for a wall-mounted console. It was unprotected, and in a few seconds she had brought up a map, plotting a route to one of the docking bays.

The way was straightforward but had little in the way of cover or places to hide, and Quinn found herself hugging the walls as she went along. Mercifully the station seemed to be in its night cycle, so many of the employees were either asleep, remaining in their rooms, or addressing the emergency at hand. The one problem came when she arrived at a door with a keycard lock, perfectly sealed and no visible vents or ways to pass. Further problems arose when the door slid open, revealing a severe-looking woman who was not at all expecting to see Quinn.

The woman let out a cry of alarm and Quinn, in a panic, lunged for her, covering her mouth, trying to think of some way - any way - to subdue her. She felt her body extend as tendrils shot out of her, entwining the woman's limbs and waist, pulling her headfirst -into- her. The woman's legs thrashed as she sank into Quinn, metallic insides moving her and balling her up before closing around her, leaving Quinn with a massive, writhing gut.

Quinn fell against the doorframe, horrified at what happened. She could feel every inch of the woman bunched up in her, fabric and metal and hair and flesh pressing into her insides, still struggling with enough force that her mass deformed from her kicking. Worse was the screaming, barely audible, and worst of all was how, moments later, the screaming and struggling began to taper off as the nanomachines her body was composed of began to go to work, until finally her distended belly went still and sickeningly silent.

Suddenly her mouth and body were overwhelmed by a bombardment of flavors, strange and savory, and she found herself covering her mouth with both hands to stifle a moan. Part of her knew that this was -wrong-, that it was because she was digesting a human being, clothes and all, but the tastes she was experiencing were so nuanced, exotic, and powerful that she couldn't help but derive some pleasure from it.

Shaking it off as best she could she lowered herself to the ground, picking up the keycard and trying to ignore the thought that this "Ellen Ezkibel" it belonged to was now little more than gallons of thick, sloshing fluid in her stomach. She continued down the hallways, now moving with more haste in her fear, bouncing and wobbling with each step until, minutes later, she reached a docking bay with a single transport ship, the model similar to hers.

Crossing the expanse of the bay she struggled to climb the ladder on the ship's side before entering, heading for the cockpit. Her hands ran across the console, powering up the engines and navigation, with furtive glances out the front every so often to make sure she hadn't been seen or followed. As the craft lifted off and the bay doors opened she maneuvered it out into space, gunning the thrusters and heading away from the station as fast as they could manage. She didn't know where to go, but after what had happened, anywhere was better than here.


	3. Decimation

Eleven Yot-Fita knew she had a family, somewhere. She knew she had been given away by them, or taken, turned over to the Bureau of Defense as part of the Blood Tithe. Her growth had been accelerated, biological implants added, and her body altered on a genetic level: Denser bones and musculature, more efficient and redundant organs, and the russet skin and white hair distinctive of Ghilman soldiers. She was taught of war and the innumerable ways to wage it, and wage it she did, for over twenty years across dozens of planets. Eleven knew, but she cared little. Her parents were just two lives in the countless billions of the Hegemony.

Her latest mission sent her and the Ghilman under her command to Kishar, to suppress a military coup by the planetary defense force. Her command numbered thirty, they tens of thousands in the region alone.

The coup forces fared poorly.

As a brigade was pushed back over the bridge at Vilg Canyon, her lieutenant reported a distress signal from the governor: The canyon attack was a feint, meant to distract them while the coup forces closed in on the capital from the north. Eleven ordered the bridge to be demolished as they rushed for the capital building, arriving just as it was overrun. They fought into and through the complex, climbing to the top where the governor and the few remaining soldiers loyal to the Hegemony were preparing for a last stand. Calling for the transport they evacuated as many as they could, in order of importance, before escaping into orbit.

No sooner had they arrived at a Hegemony military outpost than Eleven and her command were approached by the gendarmerie. They were told to disarm, remove their armor, and follow them, and she and the Ghilman did so before being led deeper into the complex. As they approached a junction they motioned for them to stop before their leader singled Eleven out, directing her down another hallway.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Your tribunal."

*****

Eleven's wrists were manacled, held apart by a durasteel bar, and heavy chains placed around her ankles. She was escorted under armed guard down a barren hallway into a pitch dark room, placed in the center of a narrow, nearly blinding spotlight coming down from above. A clamp rose up from the floor beneath her, locking around the chain and holding her in place as the doors closed behind her, leaving her alone.

This was a mistake, Eleven thought, whatever it was. She had done no wrong.

Eight holographic screens flashed to life in an arc above and in front of her, distant yet massive, projecting silhouettes cast against a field of red. "Eleven Yot-Fita." The voice was bassy and distorted, coming from all around her. "The Bureau of Defense hereby accuses you and the Ghilman under your command of insubordination, desertion, and cowardice in the face of the enemy."

She fought back a pang of indignation. Getting angry would not help her here. "We did no such thing," she stated. "We fought the enemy the second we set foot on Kishar."

"Yes. The records support that claim. After pushing the traitor forces back over the bridge, you entered the capital building, taking the planetary governor, his staff, and several soldiers into custody before leaving the planet's surface."

"Their evacuation was our highest-"

"Your orders were to combat the traitor forces on Kishar."

Eleven was taken aback. "They sent a distress signal."

"You were not there on a rescue mission, and the Bureau of Defense has sole authority over the Ghilman. Your retreat was unauthorized, and in your absence the coup has taken measures to establish legitimacy over the planet."

She could feel one of her hearts in her throat.

"The mission was a failure, and the Hegemony has suffered a severe setback due to your actions. What is your plea?"

The question was a formality; she bowed her head, her voice low. "Guilty."

"Very well. Eleven Yot-Fita, you and your platoon are hereby guilty of insubordination, desertion, and cowardice. The sentence is decimation, to be carried out immediately."

Her head snapped up. "Decimation?! No, it was my orders! They-"

"They had the duty to recognize your orders for what they were. The blame lies at all your feet."

Eleven made a move towards the tribunal, but as she went to speak two narrow metal brackets hooked into the corners of her mouth, pulling her back and holding her in place as two more beneath them locked into her jaw, holding it open as all four stretched it uncomfortably wide. From out of view she could hear the thumping footsteps of Myrmidon battle armor, and a second later it stepped into her sight, escorting with it Nine.

Nine was a promising tactician, methodical in thought yet quick to act, distinguishing herself on Tei Tenga and proving invaluable ever since. As they approached, Eleven could see her taking deep, steady breaths, trying to look calm and resolute. The Myrmidon raised her up, and she closed her eyes as it shoved her into Eleven's open mouth.

Her mouth stretched and her throat bulged as her comrade-in-arms was shoved down her maw, and she found herself repulsed and wanting to gag but unable. Mentally recoiling in disgust, she gurgled and watched in horror as Nine disappeared into her, feeling her body distend as at first she sank chest-deep, then waist-deep between her lips. As the figure in armor forced her legs down she felt the first parts of Nine land in her stomach, shaking inside of her. The last bits of her body disappeared from view, and shortly thereafter Eleven could feel Nine's full weight inside of her, stretching her midsection oddly.

As Eleven retched loudly, futilely trying to bring Nine back up, she heard the tribunal say, "bring in the next one."

The first Myrmidon departed and a second came in, leading Twenty-Three by the shoulder. Kishar had been her first mission and Eleven had told her to stay by her side and follow her lead. Twenty-Three did so admirably, but seeing her now, shaking and wide-eyed, made Nine realize just how unaccustomed to she was to this life.

The Myrmidon's massive hands gripped Twenty-Three, raising her up, and as it did she broke into a panic, struggling against it, beating its arms with her fists and screaming in inarticulate fear. In response it simply reached out with one hand, grasping her arm and giving it a twist. There was a fleshy cracking noise and her voice pitched up into an ear-splitting cry of agony, her body curling up on itself. Momentarily distracted, she provided little resistance as she was force-fed to her commander.

Eleven could feel Twenty-Three's muffled screams resonate inside of her, growing more faint as she went deeper. Fighting through the pain of her bent and broken arm she struggled against her tight confines the entire way, kicking her legs with such force that it jerked Eleven's head about. In an effort to get her behavior under control the Myrmidon took hold of her foot and wrenched her ankle to the side; Twenty-Three tensed up once more, giving it enough time to violently ram her the rest of the way in, leaving Eleven coughing loudly as a barely audible moaning and weeping emanated from her writhing gut as her two subordinates shifted against each other.

"Please," she rasped. "No more."

"Bring in the final one."

The third Ghilman was Four, Eleven's second-in-command. They had been part of the same Blood Tithe, from the same planet, and fought together for the entirety of their adult lives. Some speculated that they were related, beyond the genetic template used in their development. Even if it were true, it didn't matter to them. Their parents were just two lives in the countless billions of the Hegemony.

Four was solemn and unbowed as she stood before Eleven, regarding her with dignity, mindless of her weary look or the undignified trails of spittle. "You did the right thing," she said simply. "Let no one say otherwise."

Four did not struggle. She did not resist. Her body went down the easiest of the three, the act still repulsive to Eleven, yet she knew Four's behavior was done out of respect; to ease her own pain as her body stretched to its limits and sagged to the ground, flesh painfully wrapped around her three sisters in arms as they awaited a slow death. 

The brackets in her mouth retracted and, unable to hold herself upright any longer, Eleven slumped forward onto the lumpy, rolling swell of her stomach, bile thick in her throat. As the Myrmidons disappeared into the shadows she heard the tribunal say, "it is done. Glory to The Seven."

"Long may They reign," she choked out.

The screens winked out of existence, and all was darkness.


End file.
